Chapter 243 - 242: Things Will Get Better
"But...!"
The sturdy, black-robed man looked up, his face a mask of indignation.
"We haven’t sacrificed enough offerings! We’ve been preparing the ritual at Rose Castle for so long... Are we just going to give up like this?"
"A stronghold is just a place, a collection of inanimate objects. Simply moving to a new location won’t affect our plans."
The black-robed elder cut the sturdy man off.
"Your vision is too narrow. This world is filled with suitable offerings... Don’t get hung up on such minor gains and losses."
"Our roots are spreading wildly in the darkness, and our Power grows stronger by the day."
"One day, when the old era dawns once more, the world will hear our voices again."
"They will remember who first ruled this land and learn to kneel in terror... We are the vanguards."
With that, the black-robed elder placed a hand over his chest.
He bowed reverently toward the twisted, black idol, his voice filled with utmost piety.
"The Old Master will return."
"The Old Master will return."
The black-robed men on his left and right repeated the words in unison.
The violence and indignation on their faces melted away, replaced by the purest fanaticism.
Having confirmed their strategy, the three prepared to relocate.
But before that, there was one more step they had to complete.
This idol was, in a sense, alive.
The Old Master they served used this very idol as a medium to bestow Power upon his followers.
The precondition was sacrifice.
Since the sacrificial rite had failed and its feeding had been interrupted, it had to be compensated.
Otherwise, the idol might even turn on those nearby.
The sturdy man and the harsh-faced man in black robes stepped forward.
No words were needed.
They each picked up a sharp Bone Blade from the pile of bones at their feet and flanked the idol.
Without a moment’s hesitation.
SHLICK!
The Bone Blades sliced viciously into their own necks.
They swung with immense force; this was no mere gesture.
With a SPURT, warm blood gushed out, painting two glaring, crimson arcs through the dim cave and splashing onto the idol.
Had an ordinary person suffered such a wound, they would have long since collapsed, clutching their throat and waiting for death.
But the two black-robed men remained impassive, not even blinking.
They let the blood flow freely, their faces even swelling with pride.
’What a great honor, to be able to nourish the god of our faith with our own Essence of Life!’
As the idol became soaked in blood, it gradually began to change.
"HISSS... GURGLE..."
The black, fleshy mass, like a mouth, made greedy sucking sounds.
Its surface began to writhe wildly, taking on an eerie, purplish-red sheen.
Soon, all the blood was absorbed, not a single drop remaining.
The idol seemed sated.
Although the aura it exuded was still evil, the ravenous hunger—the urge to devour anyone in its path—had subsided.
At its base, a dozen or so fleshy, tentacle-like appendages that had been buried deep in the rock began to slowly retract back into the idol’s body.
The idol was temporarily satisfied.
Seeing this, the two men swiped their hands across their own lacerated necks.
The wounds, once deep enough to expose their tracheas, were instantly knitted together by rapidly writhing flesh the moment their hands passed over them.
In the blink of an eye, the gashes healed completely, leaving not even a scar.
If not for the bloodstains covering their bodies, one might think the scene that had just unfolded was a mere illusion.
This freakish self-healing ability was a gift from the Old Master.
"Let’s go," the black-robed elder said flatly.
The two men lifted the idol, one on each side, and followed the elder out of the cave.
Soon, the three figures vanished into the forest, leaving behind only the lonely skeletons that littered the ground.
...
「Early Morning」
Dawn was just breaking, a sliver of pale light appearing on the distant horizon.
Morning mist shrouded the land, blurring the distant houses and trees into silhouettes. The air was filled with a piercing chill unique to late autumn.
A few jackdaws cawed briefly from a branch before, as if unable to bear the damp cold, flapping their wings and flying away.
All was silent.
The Wenmier Mansion.
At the main gate.
"Hsss... This damned weather is fucking cold."
The young guard rubbed his hands together, then cupped them to his mouth and breathed into his palms.
A puff of white vapor rose before his eyes and quickly dissipated, bringing little warmth.
Winter was approaching, and the temperature difference between morning and evening was staggering.
The guard stomped his feet, the numbness that shot up from his soles making him frown.
The weather grew colder by the day, making guard duty that much more unbearable.
"Just hang in there. The shift change will be here soon."
The old guard standing on the left side of the gate was a bit calmer. He tightened the Lining of his padded coat. "We’ll get some hot soup in a bit."
"Hot soup? The stuff they make for us in the kitchens?"
Hearing this, the young guard’s face twisted into a sneer.
"Let’s be honest, it’s basically dishwater... Ptui! And do you know what I found in it last time? A cockroach!"
Just thinking about it made the young guard’s stomach churn, and his face turned pale green.
"And it was cooked with hard-shelled beans, too. I was chewing away—CRUNCH, CRUNCH—when I realized the texture was off. I spat it out and saw half a cockroach. Fucking disgusting..."
"Stop, that’s disgusting..." The old guard’s face stiffened as well.
"If you ask me, I’d rather spend my own money on oatmeal than eat the pig slop from the kitchens."
The more the young guard spoke, the angrier he got. He glanced at the grand estate behind him, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Don’t be fooled by how big this mansion is. Only we know that life inside gets worse every day."
"They’re even skimping on the guards’ food to this extent. What a fine example of Nobility..."
He trailed off, seeming to realize he’d misspoken, and his voice instinctively grew quieter.
"Alright, alright, that’s enough complaining."
The old guard walked over and patted his shoulder.
"In any case, the Wenmier Clan is slowly recovering. Didn’t they just pay off our back wages a while ago? Our lives will get better, too. We just have to work hard and make a good impression."
"I hope so..." the young guard sighed.
Suddenly, his ears twitched. He’d heard something.
The young guard looked up ahead.
Through the morning mist, several figures faintly appeared.
As they drew closer, their silhouettes sharpened.
There were five of them in total, and by the looks of it, they were all dressed as Adventurers.
They were walking straight toward the main gate of the Wenmier Mansion.
"Halt!"
The young guard immediately shouted to stop them.
"Who goes there? Do you know where you are? This is the Wenmier Clan’s mansion! You can’t just barge in!"
"Don’t you remember us?"
Zelir smiled faintly and stepped to the front of the group.
"We were just here yesterday. We’re the Adventurer Squad that completed the commission for Patriarch Vance.